


The Conditioning of Mr White

by tacticalsnake



Category: Venture Bros
Genre: Anal, Feeding, M/M, Non Consensual, Oral, Weight Gain, bhm, dub con, super science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacticalsnake/pseuds/tacticalsnake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rogue villain kidnaps White for the express purpose of molding him into the perfect plaything, using classical conditioning and serums and lots and lots of food. Lots of food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Conditioning of Mr White

White woke to a tremendous headache; blind, over-warm and paralyzed. Before he panicked and all reason escaped him, he realized he wasn’t blind, he was simply in complete darkness, and he wasn’t paralyzed, he was bound up quite tightly. The ground beneath him was quite soft, so he assumed he was at least on some blankets, but had no other ideas, save for one. He had been kidnapped, this was obvious, but even more obvious was that this was a clear arching! His and Billy’s application must have finally gone through for real this time; no way Rusty or any one else they knew would have done this. White allowed himself an indulgent grin and lay still, waiting. His headache made it difficult to find any joy in his predicament, however, so when what appeared to be a door or lid above him suddenly drew up, pouring painful waves of light into the box he had been in this whole while, he didn’t have a chance to look up and see who his arch was before a cloth was stuffed over his face and he fell unconscious again.

White woke this time head still aching but much better otherwise, unfettered and propped up in an enormous plush chair before a long table bedecked with all the trappings of a feast. White blinked, wholly bemused. He heard steps behind him, and soon a tall, older man with a wild gray beard and hair to match strode along side White’s chair. He was dressed in a long, neat, white lab-coat, black gloves, black goggles, and black boots. A very simple costume to say the least, but effective.

The man smiled warmly down at White, and said, “Welcome to my home, Mr. White. I’m certain I’ll make your stay very, ah, comfortable. I’ve decided you are to be my guest for a while... perhaps more than a guest, if you wish. That will be decided later.”

White stared. “We’ve wanted an arch for a really long time... but this isn’t really what either of us expected,” he said. The other man smiled.

“You see, I’m a very gracious host-- I’ve prepared this entire banquet just for you, Mr. White,” the man said. White still had no idea who he was, but he certainly was generous-- the entire length of the table was covered in plates, all heaped with various dishes, most of which were covered in heavy sauces and gravies, or swimming in cream and butter. The man pushed White’s chair in further, and added, “All of this is for you. I expect you to display proper courtesy and to finish it.”

White eyed the food warily, whining, “I... I don’t think I can eat all of this, fella...”

The man smiled warmly and genially grasped White’s shoulders, “Of course you can, Mr. White. You’ll need to rest every now and again, certainly, and you will have to go beyond your current physical and perceived limitations, but yes, you can do it.” The man’s fingers tensed tightly, digging sharply into White, and continued, “If you don’t, of course, I will have to punish you for being wasteful. I don’t abide waste, Mr. White.”

White winced and whimpered, not liking the sound of punishment at all. He held himself as far away as he could from the table, pressed firmly against the chair and said none too confidently, “I’m really not that hungry right now anyway....”

The man smiled warmly, ran a hand against White’s neck, gently tilting his head back and looking down into White’s face, whispered, “I see. I think I can help with that, actually.” He took a small, still-sealed syringe and a tiny bottle of colorless fluid from his pocket, and began to prepare it slowly and meticulously. “Normally, I would have to perform a sort of neurosurgery on you for this, Mr. White, wherein I would create a lesion on your ventromedial hypothalamus, not to mention perform some conditioning, but I would rather not disturb your beautiful coiffure nor take the time to train you. Instead, it so happens that I’ve spent some time developing a serum that would accomplish more or less the same goal, and very quickly too, so we shall be doing that today. Hold still while I administer this,” the man said, and then carefully pierced White’s smooth neck with the thin needle, slowly depressing the plunger until all the serum was within White. White gave a slight cry when his flesh was pierced, but stayed still and obedient until it was removed.

“How do you feel? It will take a few moments to reach its full effect, but you should be feeling something now,” the man asked.

“What the hell, fella? What’s... oh geez...” White protested, but stopped mid-sentence as a creeping, hollow, clawing sensation crawled over his stomach. The food before him suddenly looked far more attractive than it had before, the scents aggravating the empty feeling in his abdomen and calling forth a deluge of saliva.

The man smiled at this, patting White lightly on the shoulder, and leaning to his ear, whispered, “It’s all for you, Mr. White. You’d best eat soon before any of it gets cold.” Dumbly, White nodded, and gulping, reached for the first plate.

White couldn’t believe this. He didn’t really want to be here and he certainly didn’t want to sit at this table and gorge himself on food. For starters, he would lose his figure, and he rather liked preserving his lithe build. But as the seconds passed, the hunger grew, and he felt as if he hadn’t eaten in years, this hunger enough to cloud his judgment and convince him to blindly eat as much as he possibly could. After several plates, he couldn’t believe that he didn’t feel remotely full. As a matter of fact, it seemed that each bite was making him feel even hungrier, even more desperate for sustenance. Too busy with eating, he failed to notice that the mysterious man was gently undoing the buttons on White’s coat, the buttons on White’s shirt, and reaching into White’s pants and underwear to gingerly pull White’s soft genitals from his clothing. The man’s hand firmly grasped White’s cock and slowly pumped his hand back and forth over the quickly engorging shaft. White’s whimpers were muffled by the food stuffed in his mouth, but he was quite aware now that he was being played with. He tried to push the man off of him, but found it difficult to concentrate on ceasing the molestation in favor of steadying whatever dish he was currently working on.

“S-Stop it, I, I don’t, you know, I don’t swing that way,” White whined around a mouthful of pasta. The man smiled warmly, but said nothing and continued to manipulate White’s dick.

“Dog 47! I would like you to see that Mr. White enjoys his meal thoroughly. Do be careful, though, I would prefer he not orgasm before he’s ready and vomit,” the man called to the henchmen guarding the doors.

“Yes sir, Dr. Pavlov!” one of them barked, nodding, and after removing his rifle, strode to the table, crawled under it, and proceeded to suck on White’s dick.

White very nearly shrieked, barely keeping from choking on his food, and tried in vain to buck, kick, push and pull himself away from the henchman. Despite his incredible hunger, his intense dislike for this new development managed to override devouring the banquet in favor of getting this guy off his dick.

“Get off, stop it, what the hell is going on here?! I told you, I’m not gay!” White protested loudly. The supposed doctor suddenly snapped his steely fingers about White’s throat from behind the chair, pressing in just deeply enough to cease White’s complaints and nearly his breathing too.

“Are you really this petulant? You probably haven’t had anyone in your bed in years, except perhaps for that childish dwarf, and you’re going to refuse sexual contact this violently? Mr. White, I’m providing you with something dearly pleasurable, and I expect you to accept this gift graciously and happily. If you continue to fight, you will be punished. Is this clear?” Dr. Pavlov snarled. White gasped, back arched to relieve some of the pain from being pulled back, but tried to twist away anyway. The doctor released White, who slumped in the chair, gagging and coughing, but White’s relief was very short lived. The doctor had picked up a remote from behind the chair, and silently ordering the henchman off of White for the moment, flicked a toggle.

The reaction was immediate. White screamed and bucked as waves of fiery pain coursed through his body. After a couple seconds, Dr. Pavlov ticked the toggle back, stopping the device and allowing White to slump further into the chair, sobbing.

“This is what comes of disobedience, Mr. White. I’m sure you’re wondering what that was: it was simply a ‘pain-ray’. Silly name, I know, but it certainly gets the point across, doesn’t it? Now then, will you accept all that I am giving you, or would you rather experience the pain-ray again?” The doctor intoned softly. White tried to answer, but his words were lost within his gasping sobs. “I’m sorry, I can’t quite hear you, Mr. White,” the doctor said, and leaning forward with a hand on the toggle added, “I don’t suppose you could be a dear and repeat that for me? Otherwise I’m going to have to suppose that you’re rebelling again.”

“I.. I’ll do it! Whatever! Whatever you want! Just... don’t hurt me anymore, fella,” White howled, panicked. The doctor smiled broadly.

“Excellent. I do believe, then, we were in the middle of something?” he said, waving an open palm toward the many remaining platters. White sniffled, rubbing his nose and nodded meekly. The memory of the pain subsiding, White felt the hunger swelling inside of him again, and set to gobbling the food before him as quickly as he could. The henchman quietly resumed his task as well, and while White would be loathe to admit it, the dog-clad man was doing quite a good job at it. As White ate, he noticed that every now and again he’d feel just a little bit of pressure about his stomach, perhaps indicating fullness, perhaps indicating that he was reaching his physical limitations, but not only could he not fathom stopping eating, he felt a burst of arousal and a fresh swelling of his cock. He couldn’t understand why he would find such a thing arousing, but he certainly did, and he certainly moaned like a little whore about it. He tried to fight it, tried to keep himself from looking out of fear, but eventually glanced down at his naked abdomen to see if he was stretching himself out: indeed, he had developed a fairly small, round, distended belly. Since the waistband of his pants was pulled down to facilitate fellation, he didn’t entirely realize this was happening. He felt upset, panicked, but could not get himself to stop eating. He became more and more aware that his stomach was expanding to accommodate for all the food being shoved into it, and was terrified of the consequences, but watched helplessly as he shoveled bite after bite into his own mouth. The food was delicious, and he loved the way it tasted, and the smell beckoned to him, and his stomach was screaming for more, and his dick was harder than he ever thought possible and he could feel the orgasm tugging at the pit of his stomach, and as insane as it all seemed, his mind took a back seat, panicked as he was, and allowed himself to come rather hard and howl appropriately as he was trying, frantically, to lick clean the very last plate left. Spent from the effort and the pleasure, White collapsed onto the table, gasping. He finally felt full, or at least, full enough, and leaning forward even the slight bit onto the table pressed his over-full belly against his legs and softening cock. The swollen, heavy organ felt pleasant when squeezed against himself like this, and he gave a soft moan with out really thinking about it.

Despite earlier difficulties, the doctor felt extremely pleased with the day’s results. He quietly ordered the henchman away, and reached a hand down to rub and gently pat White’s swollen stomach. While he enjoyed what he could see of the smooth, lily-white flesh being stretched taut over the hard, full stomach, he knew he would enjoy it much more once the body began to expand and soften as a whole, and when White would develop a full, pliant, quivering belly, soft enough to squeeze easily in one’s hands and large enough to engulf his entire lap. Of course, he didn’t just want White to have a beautiful belly, he wanted to see his entire body, so angular as it was now, rounded and softened out, with a wide bouncing ass and a wonderful set of jiggling, manifold chins.

White moaned and purred softly as the doctor stroked his swollen stomach, and felt that he might just drift into sleep right there where he sat. Instead, the doctor patted him gently but sternly on the back, and helped him to stand out of the chair and started walking him to another section of the castle. White had a great deal of trouble moving, feeling quite tired and quite heavy, needing to hold his distended belly in order to support its unbalanced weight. Stumbling along, White wondered where they were going, but at present he didn’t much care, and nor did he want to be seen as “misbehaving”.

It wasn’t long until they reached their destination: a rather cozy looking and well appointed guest room. A large, plush bed stood in the middle, a squat refrigerator or freezer and dining table sat next to that, a handsome liquor cabinet was arranged across all of this, and a closed door led to what could easily be assumed to be a bathroom. The doctor Pavlov smiled and motioned White into the room. White struggled to make the last few steps on his own until he fell over onto the bed, quite content to lie there for all eternity.

“This will be your room, Mr. White. I assume you will find that it suits all your needs: Should you grow hungry or thirsty, there will always be a stock of food or drink. Don’t worry about preparing anything your self, as one of my dog-men will be more than happy to do it for you. If you are bored, I suggest asking for reading material or taking a nap. Please refrain from any exciting activities, as I would prefer you stay restful,” the doctor announced this cheerfully, and pausing to gaze at White, who was limply bent over the edge of the massive bed with his rear facing Pavlov, added, “You must be, ah, uncomfortable in those clothes. I’ll have one of my dog-men help you out of them so you can rest more easily. I’ll send for you later, so do not fret. Until then, please gr-- er, rest.”

White barely grunted in reply, feeling far too heavy and sleepy to move. He heard the door click softly behind him, then the footfalls of one of the rotund dog-men stumping up to disrobe him. Unable to fight back, White had to allow the other man to pull off his jacket and shirt and peel of his pants and underwear. White’s face flushed pinker than usual as the final garment was removed, and as the henchman awkwardly pulled and pushed White completely onto the bed since White refused to move himself at all. In no time, White drifted into sleep.

White dozed on and off for quite a while, groaning frequently due to intermittent discomfort. His stomach was too swollen, it was hard for him to get comfortable, but at the same time, there was an undercurrent of pleasure from the heft and fullness of his over-stuffed abdomen. When conscious, he absentmindedly ran his hands over and around the ball-like protrusion, massaging it and both enjoying the feel of it under his fingers and the feel of his fingers rubbing the solid flesh. Presently, however, White’s habit of playing with his slowly, slowly declining bump of undigested food had a new purpose: he was feeling hungry again. It took him a while to realize what was going on, and by then he was bordering on ravenous. Wincing at the thought of stretching his stomach out any more, he tried his best to ignore his abdominal rumblings and cravings. Yet, his mind kept wandering toward things he would very much like to eat, and this caused his mouth to water, and thus he had to keep swallowing and licking his lips, and holding his tummy to assuage the mounting need for sustenance, and eventually, he was forced to give in and allowed himself the consideration for just a snack.

White pushed himself up on the bed, still over the covers and still quite naked, and spotting the refrigerator, recalled Dr. Pavlov’s words: If he should need anything, he was to ask the dog-man at his door for it, and not do anything himself. White grimaced slightly, but turned to face the guard and asked, “I don’t suppose I could have something to eat?”

The guard nodded curtly, and strode to the refrigeration unit. White tried to see what he was getting out, but was rather dismayed to see the henchman pull out an entire roasted chicken. “Er, I don’t really need that much, I just... Hey, I mean, he’s probably going to want me to eat dinner or something later, right? I mean, I shouldn’t spoil my appetite, right?” White tried to refuse the bird, but the dog-man silently placed the food on the table next to the bed, and then crawled under said table. White froze, wary. “What... are you... doing?”

“Dr. Pavlov asked that you enjoy every meal, sir.”

White frowned. “Yeah, I think I’d like it a lot more if you didn’t do that...”

“Sir, I assure you, you’ll like it more if I do.”

White growled under his breath. He really, really wanted to eat, but he really, really didn’t want some weird fat guy in a dog suit sucking on his dick the whole time, either. However, his belly snarled ferociously and White, unable to completely resist his body’s utmost needs, gave in and gingerly slid into the table (high enough to be eaten at from the bed) and set to devouring the chicken. The henchman, of course, immediately took up White’s dick with incredible skill. White whimpered, hating himself doubly; he only intended to eat maybe a wing or a leg, but instead was quickly dissolving the entire creature and felt he may need more once he was done with it. Further, he was rather enjoying the accompanying fellatio. He moaned into his food, he sank one hand down to force the other man’s head down further onto his cock, ravaging at the food with his jaws like some sort of animal.

White managed to finish the bird shortly before coming, panting and face-fucking the henchman whose head he was still holding firmly against his groin. When he came, nibbling on his fingers all the while, he came hard. He jerked a couple times, as if trying to ensure each spurt of semen would find its way down the dog-man’s throat, before finally sagging back onto the bed.

“Geez... I never figured...” White muttered to himself, then pushed himself up further onto the bed. He thought perhaps he should rest, but a low rumble told him his stomach was yet to be satisfied. White rolled over, pouting somewhat. What the hell should he do? His balls were drained-- he wouldn’t be able to get it up for a while yet, and he wasn’t sure if they’d let him eat if that were the case since it seemed to be policy that food was always accompanied by sex. Or, at least, some sort of sexual activity. He sincerely hoped that it would never escalate to full-on sex. On the other hand, he felt like he’d never eaten in his life and was pretty sure he’d be driven mad if he couldn’t eat his fill. “Hey,” White said, still looking away from the guard.

“Sir?”

“I think I need more food...”

The henchman said nothing, but went to the refrigerator again and brought out several more cold dishes and set each one on the bed next to White. He seemed to realize White didn’t very much want to move, either. White swallowed nervously, seeing each of these platters piled rather high with food. He knew he shouldn’t, He knew it would have terrible consequences, but he couldn’t help himself and pulled himself up just enough to eat comfortably and dug in with just his hands. He didn’t feel like trying to manipulate silverware at the moment. He also felt as if he were watching a movie more than doing any of this himself. Yes, it was some sort of horrible nightmare viewed entirely in the third person: there he was, on an enormous bed, shoveling handful after handful of food into his mouth. His hands were covered in sauce and bits of matter. Here, he periodically stopped to lick and suck his fingers clean, a puerile task and utterly pointless as he clawed his way through another pile of food. He licked each plate as he finished its contents. He licked his lips clean as best he could throughout. His second hand concentrated entirely on holding his again-swelling belly as he stuffed more into it. Already so full and yet able to just hold more and more. White wanted to wake up. White wanted to stop. White wanted to eat. White wanted to be back at home in his camper playing GTA and tormenting Billy. White knew that soon he’d wake up, knew that soon he’d hear Billy reproaching him about... whatever. Or Billy would be excited about something stupid and want to tell him all about it. But he wouldn’t be here any more. He would have full control of his senses and body and mind again.

Alas, he was awake. Alas, he was not at home. Alas, he was here and he was still hungry and he was whining for more with out meaning to or wanting to or even fully realizing he was.

White barely registered the knock on the door, he was so entirely dead set on getting that damn dog-man to listen to him and come back and stop doing whatever the hell he was doing going to the door and come feed him. He was completely surprised when dear Doctor Pavlov was suddenly standing before him, a broad smile across his whiskery face.

“I’m very happy to see your appetite has developed so well, Mr. White. You must be very happy to learn, then, that it’s time for another full meal. Come along, now,” the doctor said, holding out a hand to White. White, trembling with hunger, crawled over the bed, scrambled down while clinging tightly to Pavlov’s hand, and stumbled after him to the dining room again.

White cooperated spectacularly, scrambling into the chair by himself, though also trying to eat everything immediately. Instead, Pavlov firmly pulled White back and quickly pushed a needle into his arm, administering yet another shot. White howled and tried to pull away, but the doctor held him fast. When he was done, he patted White gently, and cooed, “I just wanted to make sure you metabolized everything properly. You’re free to satisfy your self, now.”

White paused and eyed him suspiciously. “Another serum...?” he asked. The doctor nodded, saying nothing and instead motioning that White should eat.

Instead of the wide array of heavy dishes from earlier in the day, the table was covered in rather sumptuous looking desserts. If White felt like taking the time to examine the offerings before him, he would see that there were probably twenty different flavors and textures of ice creams, a myriad of cakes, puddings, flans and sweets he wouldn’t be able to readily identify. Everything was sweet, fluffy, creamy and all around delectable. Whipped cream, powdered sugar, syrups and various shaved and minced toppings were heaped on top of each dish with the occasional maraschino cherry. White didn’t really pause in his victual genocide to really appreciate any of this, however, preferring instead to devour all of it as quickly as he possibly could. How he was managing to fit all of this wonderful food into his yearning belly was a mystery to him, but all that really mattered right now, to him, was that it continued to stretch. As before, he felt a certain amount of pleasure every time his stomach felt like it was reaching its limit, although it was still too soon for him to grow erect again.

Dr. Pavlov was very pleased with how his project was proceeding. He was sure that it would be a little while yet before White truly enjoyed what was happening to him and was currently just a slave to desires, but Pavlov was patient and more than willing to wait for that day to come. For now, though, they would continue a steady routine of feeding coupled with sexual pleasures until White completely associated the two. His current goal was simply to make poor Mr. White hopelessly aroused by the very smell and presentation and perhaps the barest mention of food. He was curious about what he’d heard and read about some men being able to come with out any real physical stimulation and wondered if perhaps he could train White to be so thoroughly satisfied by eating that he could do more or less the same thing. It was certainly something to think about, at least. After all, it may become necessary once White’s body swelled too large for his genitals to be easily accessed. At present White’s abdomen was just large and heavy enough with yet undigested food that it was beginning to force his slender legs apart. Unable to resist the allure of White’s pale smooth belly, the doctor reached down and gently rubbed it. Of course, White let a few small moans escape, not quite able to control himself. Pavlov smiled and continued to massage White’s growing belly. Soon, White’s admittedly generous equipment was inflating with blood, the resulting erection extending proudly beyond his distended abdomen. A dog-man was quickly under the table and on White’s dick with out needing immediate orders, suckling eagerly.

A repeat of the previous two sessions, White managed to finish every last morsel of food and came spectacularly into the henchman’s throat. Pavlov was extremely pleased, nuzzling White’s face and patting his over-full tummy while gently whispering what a good boy White was into his ear. White felt a bit dazed, exhausted, and otherwise spent, slumping down into the throne-like chair. As before, he could barely move for the post-meal drowsiness and allowed Pavlov to lift him up and lead him to the same quarters as before. White leaned on the doctor, groaning slightly with every slosh of his heavy stomach’s contents. This time, though, Pavlov personally helped White into bed, making sure to install him beneath the silky sheets. Before covering White’s beautifully alabaster body with the fine silks, he paused to admire the beginning of his new project. White was as yet very slender and long, but this would change. Pavlov anticipated the morning when he could see how well this version of the serum would work: the early mixtures worked much too quickly, then he changed it but it worked much too slowly or not at all, and after many more tests, he was fairly certain this one ought to be just right. With White’s current food intake, his gain ought to progress smoothly in small but clearly visible increments. He had also considered beginning training White to receive anal penetration tonight, but decided he could wait a few more days. He wanted White to have enough soft flesh to be able to properly experience sex through his entire body; he wanted White to feel himself jiggling and rippling at least a little bit first.

White slept supremely well that night, with no disturbances or discomfort whatsoever. He dropped off immediately as he was tucked into the bed, and did not wake again until the next morning. He was roused by a heavy paw on his shoulder, nudging him. At first he thought he might have simply had an elaborate nightmare, but as the unfamiliar surroundings came into focus he realized that he was, indeed, in the bowels of a mad doctor’s castle and that he was indeed not seeing home anytime soon.

“It’s time to wake up. The doctor wants you to shower, shave, and relieve your self. No masturbating,” the henchman grunted. White didn’t respond and tried to snuggle as deeply into the covers as he could. The henchman added, “If you don’t hurry, he’s going to get pissed. He wants you in the dining hall in half an hour.”

White winced, vaguely remembering what happened the last time he sparked the doctor’s capricious temper, and slowly forced himself up, out of the bed, and slogged toward the door the dog-man indicated. He didn’t seem to feel any the worse for wear after the events of the day previous, except rather hungry of course. Still groggy, he tried to ignore his morning wood in favor of following the directives and just getting through the morning ritual well without. At first he was too disoriented from waking to really pay much mind to something not seeming right while showering, but as his mind gradually cleared he became very aware that his body seemed to have become rather soft during the night. White wasn’t entirely sure he believed this, but it seemed he lost all muscular definition and even developed roundness here and there. His stomach was no longer smooth, but had a few soft proto-rolls; his waist bulged slightly; his pecs were much less square and more rounded; though he couldn’t see it now, he was certain his buttocks was a bit fuller than it had been before. His arms and legs, while not obviously larger than before, were entirely doughy. White was panicking, terrified at what he’d become. He worked so hard to keep his trim figure, and now all of that had been destroyed in a single day. That shouldn’t have even been possible, and yet... White recalled the injections and grimaced. For a moment, he thought he might just refuse to eat, or at least not eat more than necessary, and perhaps try to do something to burn all of this off, but quickly realized that Pavlov would punish him rather severely.

A sharp rap and gruff order to hurry up brought White back to his present situation: finish showering and report for breakfast, and with just a touch of nervousness, he completed all that was necessary and exited the wash room. Still toweling his hair, White noticed some clothing neatly folded upon the bed.

“Are these... mine?” White asked. They didn’t look very refined; just a t-shirt and boxers. They also looked a bit large for him.

The dog-man only nodded and added, “You need to put those on now or else you’re going to be late.”

White frowned and picked up the shirt, which was a couple sizes too large and quite pink, and pulled it on. He also stepped into the glossy white shorts, which he wasn’t quite certain would be able to stay on at present. They weren’t falling off, but they were quite loose. He tucked the shirt into the shorts, which helped make them feel a bit more secure, and then the henchman decided to lead him back to the dining hall.

This meal was not substantially different from the others: he was presented with a veritable banquet, this time breakfast items such as eggs and biscuits with gravy and sausages and bacon and the like, a henchman pleasured him through the entire meal and the doctor praised and petted him for doing so well. The doctor also insisted on pulling White’s shirt out of his shorts in order to examine him before and after the meal: he was apparently progressing perfectly. White felt sick with himself, eating like a pig and feeling just the slightest tinge of enjoyment that Pavlov still liked him even though he was substantially heavier than he was the day before. As long as Pavlov was happy with him, he wouldn’t be hurt, and this was very important right now. Not to mention his growing excitement over eating and, well, over-eating.

Afterward, as each time before, White was taken to his room to rest and snack if need be. This pattern continued for a few days: Three full meals, plenty of time to rest and nibble between each. White was disheartened each morning when he performed his daily ritual upkeep, as he was steadily growing fatter. Presently he had a small but well defined gut, his thighs were starting to brush against one another whenever he walked, his chest had become so flabby as to be flat out man-tits, and most embarrassingly, he was just starting to develop a second chin. While Pavlov seemed to enjoy the fact that he could actually grab and squeeze parts of White’s flesh now, White wasn’t the least bit amused. The shirt still hid most of White’s features, with only the barest hint of his round belly protruding, and the shorts more or less fit now. This wasn’t nearly true at the end of each day, of course, where his stomach would be so stretched and full of consumed material that it very easily showed through the otherwise loose shirt.

This evening, being either the fourth or fifth (White wasn’t entirely sure which), marked a change in the usual repertoire. Instead of Dr. Pavlov tucking him in after some weird encouragement concerning “blossoming into his real beauty” accompanied with a great deal of petting and molestation, the good Doctor became concerned with massaging White’s buttocks more than anything else.

“Mr. White, I don’t suppose you’ve submitted to anal penetration before?”

White’s heart sank. He had hoped this wouldn’t come up, but alas, that had clearly been in vain. He shook his head, too tired, full and now sick to really say anything.

Pavlov smiled. “Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we? I’ll work to loosen you up manually, but soon I’ll want you to do this yourself. We’ll discuss that in more detail later. For now,” he paused to remove his normal gloves and snap on a pair of latex examination gloves, “fingers shall do.”

White refused to look at Pavlov while he added a spot of lubricant to his fingers, rubbing some of it on White’s tender anus as well. White shivered: it was cold and gooey. With out any ceremony, Pavlov inserted one finger, then two into White’s virgin ass, slowly pushing them in and out while repeatedly whispering to White that he should just relax and enjoy this. White thought this was possibly the weirdest thing he’d experienced in a while, outside of being kidnapped for the express purpose of being transformed into a roly-poly sex toy. He wasn’t sure he really liked this at all, but at the same time he couldn’t really say that he hated it. After a bit, Pavlov added another finger, and a little later yet another, so that White was being quite stretched. He whimpered, feeling some amount of pain now, but the doctor refused to pull his fingers out. The unpleasantness ebbed away, replaced with some amount of pleasure, and White decided this might not be so bad after all.

As soon as White completely relaxed and accepted this, the doctor retrieved his hand. White looked up, confused, but saw that Pavlov had somehow managed to remove his gloves, coat and pants in what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. On top of this, Pavlov had a rather enormous erection standing proudly out from himself, to which he was currently applying lubricant.

White’s face paled, and asked, “You...You’re not seriously going to, you know... I mean, that’s huge, and... I really don’t know about this, fella.”

Pavlov simply smirked, grabbed White’s long legs and tossed them over his shoulders as he pulled the two of them together, and just as quickly slid his entire length into White’s rectum. White’s reaction was immediate; unable to restrain himself, he moaned loudly like a greedy whore. Gasping, whimpering, White felt both wonderful and uncomfortable. On one hand, were his balls not still empty, he would have grown an excellent erection, on the other, he felt a tinge panicked by the incredibly full feeling of Pavlov’s large, engorged cock thrusting into him. He felt a little sick, too, as his way over-full belly was smacked and sloshed repeatedly. He really wanted to escape, to get off this awful ride and just sleep or eat or something else. Pavlov, watching him intently, seemed to notice and smoothly slid a hand onto White’s puffy breast, gliding his fingers and trimmed nails over White’s hard, pink nipple. White gasped, and as Pavlov pinched the small protrusion of flesh between his fingers, tugging with their momentum, White’s whimpers escalated into howls that he tried to smother by biting and sucking on his slender fingers. Not wishing to hurt him, Pavlov released White’s nipple shortly, and instead pawed harshly at handfuls of White’s flesh.

White did not wish to admit it, but every thrust inside of him sent a rippling wave through his body, each with a small jolt of pleasure. Through barely opened lids, White could see his thighs and stomach jiggling. He was slightly saddened that he wasn’t on his hands and knees, for he wagered that he’d feel things even more then, not to mention feel just how heavy and soft his buttocks had become. He was terrified to consider it, but he caught himself wondering, frequently through this, what it would feel like to have an incredibly fat stomach pressed against his legs during sex. Each time one of these wayward thoughts crept into his purview, he became much more excited until he forced himself to shame the ideas away.

Barely aware of anything besides this gleeful reintroduction to coupling, White realized that it felt that Pavlov’s already massive cock had swollen just a bit larger within him, bringing out a fresh set of moans from the helpless albino. Likewise, Pavlov was slightly more vocal than before and within seconds found him self exploding inside of White. Pavlov slowed, tired, but kept up for a little while longer to allow White to enjoy him for just a little bit more time, and finally pulled out once he was too soft to continue. He leaned over White, gently gathering him up and holding him close to feel just how padded White’s slight body had gotten, and after pecking him on the cheek said, “You did admirably. I’m not sure I would believe it to be your first time, Mr. White. Nevertheless, we shall continue this nightly. Do sleep well to-night, Mr. White.”

With this, Pavlov slid off of White, dressed, and left the room. White was dazed, tired, and felt just a little “ooky.” He didn’t feel dirty just because he was quite slimy between his butt-cheeks, but because he felt like he acted like a horrible little slut. He was glad he didn’t actually exclaim anything, no, “oh yes more” or, “harder, harder” or anything like that, but he still felt ashamed that he made any noise at all, and even more ashamed that he truly enjoyed it and was looking forward to the next night already. Rolling over, pulling up the covers and absently stroking and rubbing his belly for comfort, White quickly fell asleep.

 

White discovered in the morning that he should have made use of the facilities before retiring: not only did the lubricant not feel any better between the tops of his thighs than it did the night before, but now there was a thick, sticky deposit of semen that had oozed out and settled on his butt and legs during the night. White scowled, taking time to scour himself extra well during his shower that day. He barely remembered the events from the night before until the unpleasantries with the semen and lubricant, and reflecting on his forbidden fantasies from the same night, he took a little extra time to examine himself in the shower. As usual, he’d grown perhaps a few more inches about his torso, his arms and legs had gotten just a bit fatter as well, and that bit of padding at his throat had gotten a bit more expansive. There really wasn’t any escaping it at this point, and while he had a few moments of joy wondering just what was going to happen to him, reality quickly sank in and depression soon followed. He was getting progressively fatter, and feared that Pavlov was going to feed him into oblivion, shoving food down his throat until he was nothing more than a fat, wheezing blob, completely unable to move or take care of himself. To his horror, he caught his hand sneakily pawing at his still erect penis. First, he was appalled because he knew he was forbidden from masturbating before breakfast. Second, he was mortified because his first concern was following Dr. Pavlov’s rules and not that he was aroused by the thought of being too obese for proper description.

Over the next few days, the meals changed slightly-- instead of three banquet sized meals with snack in between, there were six amply sized meals through the day, with smaller snacks in between. White took some time to adjust, whining about the lack of food until he understood he’d simply be eating more often throughout the day. He was also much more comfortable through the day, as having some time to rest between smaller meals meant his stomach wasn’t painfully stretched each time. Pavlov also subjected White to a nightly ritual of after-supper sex, which White was accepting more and more each time. Pavlov noted, with much delight, that White particularly liked his soft, growing belly pawed and groped, as well as his developing tits.

As much as White enjoyed being played with, he was feeling more trapped and hopeless each day as his girth increased: two weeks in and the sleeves of his shirt were becoming snug about his arms, the body of the shirt was filled out enough to start molding to his shape, and the shorts were becoming somewhat tight and had a habit of riding up slightly. Gaining so quickly wasn’t giving White much chance to develop musculature able to carry this weight around, and even with out his thighs rubbing against each other increasingly, he needed to waddle precariously from location to location. The doctor seemed to take a perverse joy in slapping White’s ass whenever he made him walk somewhere, urging him to hurry (which he clearly couldn’t). Other times, he’d simply not let White leave the dining throne, fondling his portly frame and often fucking him against the chair if it pleased him until his next meal.

When White was best described as round, but not quite enormous, Pavlov decided it was time to train White in the art of giving oral sex to another man. White had just finished a sumptuous meal and was attempting to extricate himself from the once-overlarge chair when Pavlov rested a hand on White’s shoulder, pausing him.

“Mr. White, you certainly enjoy expressing yourself orally, don’t you?” Pavlov cooed. White looked at him, somewhat bemused.

“Er... what?”

“Well, you seem to be quite fond of either talking out of turn, or better, eating everything I feed you. I was thinking perhaps you’d enjoy another sort of, ah, feeding,” Pavlov said, now rubbing White’s meaty shoulder. White frowned slightly.

“I... I’m not sure I know where you’re going with this, fella,” White said, carefully, though his face was beginning to flush. Pavlov smiled.

“You do...”

“Aw, c’mon, pally, I’ll take it, you know, anally, but... No, no way fella, that’s going to far,” White protested, pushing away violently enough that his jello body jiggled pleasantly. White gulped and immediately pawed at his belly, nearly losing himself and slipping a hand into his ill-fitting shorts. He couldn’t understand why he was so aroused by his bulk, but he could hardly go a day with out popping a boner because some fat roll or several shook or he needed to squeeze himself into something because he was too big to fit. Pavlov positively grinned and slid onto the chair, kneeling on White so that his groin hovered close to White’s chubby face. Within seconds, Pavlov had loosed his large, fully erect penis and was rubbing it gently into White’s fleshy cheeks.

“Come, now, it’s not so bad. I’ll help you through it, so you needn’t worry about performing badly. It’s your first time, I’ll understand. Come, open up... I know you want to do this, deep in your heart. Nothing would be more satisfying...”

White squirmed and tried to keep his mouth clamped shut, but it was to no avail, and eventually Pavlov pried White’s jaws open with his too-strong fingers and simply slid his dick part of the way in. He gently coaxed White into suckling just the head, then worked himself the rest of the way in as they fought against White’s gag reflex. White nearly vomited, but Pavlov assured him that in time he’d master himself and be able to swallow cock as greedily as he might wish. White was angry, knowing he was being shown just how powerless and emasculated he’d become. He wasn’t told that he’d come to enjoy this, instead he was told he wanted nothing more than to do this even though his sentiments were clearly antithesis to this. Slobbering all over a cock so huge he thought his jaws might break apart was not his idea of a good time. Pavlov also forced him to moan whilst he did this, and even ordered him to masturbate. White might admit to the sex being pleasurable, but this humiliation was going too far, even now. He didn’t dare bite down, terrified of what might happen to him if he even so much as failed to follow Pavlov’s instructions implicitly. Sure, he said he would be lenient for this being White’s first time, but White knew better than to actually believe him.

Eventually, Pavlov released White, cock still rock hard and long yet to come, only to order him onto his belly to receive him anally. White was extremely relieved, far preferring the honest sex. He was fucked so often that it took almost no effort to glide Pavlov’s enormous shaft into him, so with little ceremony White soon found himself happy and pleasured. He pawed at his dick, his hanging gut, his flabby breasts and small, hard nipples, and moaned in earnest. He wanted Pavlov to realize he’d much prefer this activity, but before long, Pavlov was leaning over White and stuffing fingers into his mouth, ordering him to lick and suck as he had earlier. White obeyed, but thought he might sob. Worse, he seemed to enjoy it now, though he could not figure out why in the world he would prefer something that by all rights should have been even more humiliating. Before long, White felt the familiar surge of pleasure as Pavlov’s dick hardened just that little bit more, and then came, and knew he’d be able to rest for at least a little while. White had also come during this time, coating his round underbelly with a spot of semen. He crouched, shaking and jiggling, into a fleshy pool onto the chair, panting and yet moaning softly.

“We’ll do this more... I see you liked submitting both ways concurrently. I’ll have Dog 47 attend to you as well tomorrow. You owe him quite a bit for all the pleasure he’s bestowed you during this time,” Pavlov whispered into White’s ear, then left him for the night to crawl laboriously back to his room on his own.

Just as Pavlov promised, White was further trained in the oral arts each day, even being forced to give head to the henchman that had always serviced him during meals while Pavlov fucked him. White rather enjoyed the latter activities, much to his horror, and even found himself hardening whenever Pavlov ordered him to beg to suck on either’s cock. Oh, the terrible things he had to say, none of which he wished to ever reflect upon, laden with base language he’d never consider using normally. Yet, he was losing most of his fight as his body filled out more and more, weighing him down with pounds and pounds of blubber and flesh. He could hardly move and was quite content, if despondent, to let others manipulate his corpulent body for him.

 

The day came that White was getting quite fattened: his gut and ass extended far, his thick fat belly hanging low over his incredibly large thighs and brushing against where his knees ought to have been. The shirt couldn’t contain him any longer, stretched painfully over each roll, drawn up high on his arms and abdomen, the fat flesh bubbling out amply beyond the hems. His shorts were more or less useless, tucked under his gut and barely drawn up his enormous buttocks, leaving a great deal exposed. Between his thighs the shiny material was tightly bunched and drawn into his groin and into his cavernous crevice. Movement was difficult and painful, whether his thighs were chafing horribly or the bunched cloth drew tighter and harder against him as he moved and sweated. There was nothing White hated more than having to walk, which Pavlov was usually more than happy to accommodate, now leaving White in a very comfortable, pillowed room and bringing food and other amenities to him. If he thought he was immobile before, he was almost useless now. Too heavy to be pushed into various sexual positions, Pavlov was content to install foul machinery in and around White, ensuring he rarely went an hour with out some sort of stimulation. He was also constantly fed treats, snacks, and meals, often hand fed because White couldn’t quite reach beyond his own stomach. Sometimes a henchman would place items on White’s gently quivering belly and watch as he struggled to assemble the food himself, trying to get his blubbery arms to cross his great, heavy bosom. His favorite treat, no matter how difficult it was for him to make, was chocolate chip cookies with generous amounts of genuine whipped cream coiled on top. He’d eat these several trays of cookies and bags of cream at a time, wriggling within his bulk with sheer delight. Whenever Pavlov paid visits to White in his fluffy quarters he enjoyed feeding White messy, sauce laden items with his hands so that White had to lick and suck Pavlov’s fingers clean, and then face fucking White until he (Pavlov) came into White’s throat.

While White had given up fighting or protesting, as he was quite unable to, he wasn’t without grief or despair. He was highly conflicted, both aroused and wholly disgusted by his situation; wanting to stay here where all his carnal needs were comfortably met, and leave for home to know his games and few friends again. Every night as he was left alone to rest he often sat, weary and sore, and cried himself to sleep.

 

The doctor was very careful to keep White at his present weight: enormous and nearly immobile, but not quite a melting blob. If it were necessary, White could be lifted to a standing position and slowly ambulate a short distance by his own devices. As a matter of fact, Pavlov often enjoyed forcing White to parade around the room for him, so he could observe just how round and folded White’s flesh was and watch how each roll rippled with every laborious step White took. Pavlov could see that White found this rather uncomfortable, nay, painful, but this didn’t concern the foul doctor. He liked seeing White struggle in every manner, whether trying to move his stuffed, bulky body, laboring to maneuver with the added machinery and tubing shoved in and around, or simply dealing with the worst: his horribly ill-fitting clothing that constricted his body and held all the horrible devices tight against and within him. Pavlov couldn’t entirely suppress a giggle and grin here and there whenever he forced White to move and took the liberty of prodding and squeezing his constituent parts all the while just to make him even more miserable.

White thought he might just be in Hell, here to be punished for all the untoward things he’d done in life (not that he felt this was fair because he was, in his opinion, entirely justified in everything he did), or perhaps for being too vain (again, it shouldn’t be a crime to be so handsome, should it?), or maybe he had some sort of accident he couldn’t recall due to trauma and was having a horrific coma-nightmare. He wasn’t sure you could have nightmares while comatose but he preferred to think that he was because whatever awaited him after waking from a coma was surely better than this.

Either way, he wished fervently every night when going to sleep that something, anything, whether death or ending a coma, would happen so that he wouldn’t have to be here any more, so he wouldn’t have to endure any more humiliation and pain. He swore to the silent room every night for each tear he let slide down his fattened face, he’d do whatever it took to make up for whatever he did that someone thought he deserved this and try his best to be a better person. Maybe he’d try harder to be better to Billy, or he’d try harder to actually work instead of play games all day, or he wouldn’t try to swindle anyone anymore, or whatever was asked of him, he’d do it.

Much to White’s surprise, this day actually came.

As with any night, he begged until he passed out, and as with any morning, he awoke to find everything exactly as it was before. As with every morning he felt despairing and hopeless, shifting himself as best he could among the countless pillows and tubing, and waiting for his first round of meals to be brought in. And he waited. And he waited. White became slightly concerned with how long things were taking and wondered if he woke up uncharacteristically early; however, he noticed the room clock marked the time as being somewhat late for breakfast. White whimpered as his stomach started growling and clenching painfully, hoping that someone would come soon with his food and with a due apology (though he realized his station was much too low for it). Instead the waiting drew on longer and White noticed that things were oddly quiet. His room was rather out of the way, he realized, but there at least should have been some amount of noise from above. He didn’t know what else anyone would do around the castle all parts of the day, but someone was always doing something, and it made noise. Alas, there was nothing to be heard in this part of the castle today.

White thought he’d waited for an eternity (in reality, about half an hour), before he heard a tremendous explosion somewhere distant in the castle. The walls shook even in his room, and bits of dust and plaster fell from the ceiling. White hoped this wouldn’t interfere more-so with his meal, too caught in a learned assumption that he could never escape and therefore this couldn’t possibly have anything to do with a possible escape. White listened closely, and gradually heard quite a bit of scrambling and crashing occurring above him, and with time, in the long hallway in which his room resided. Shouts could be heard, shots were fired, and White became slightly worried. His meal was obviously not coming any time soon. Then, the door suddenly burst open; White straightened up excitedly, expecting food; two Strangers stood in the doorway in place of the fuzzy suited henchman White wanted. White bristled in fury when he realized no henchmen were here to attend to him and positively exploded.

“What the hell, pally, I’ve been waitin’ here for ever for breakfast, and it’s late, and who the hell are you anyway, fella? You’re not supposed to be here, unless you’ve got food for me, which you don’t, so go get someone who does! What the hell kinda outfit is he runnin’ here, anyway?” White snarled, but instead of leaving, the Strangers only smirked.

“What... the hell... you are so huge, oh my god. HEY, COME HERE, YOU GOTTA SEE THIS,” one Stranger said, trying not to laugh. The other one grinned horribly down at White, quite amused at the situation. More Strangers arrived, crowding the door way and pushing into the room in order to get a better look as word spread that there was a ridiculously obese albino tucked away in the castle’s basement. White flushed bright red, first out of anger and then out of shame as everyone gawked at him. He felt terribly awkward, especially from his outburst, which had to make him sound like a pig.

“Wow, how does anyone get so fat?” one of the closer Strangers inquired, nudging White’s enormous belly with a booted foot. White winced, tried to bat at the other’s foot with a swollen hand, but couldn’t exactly reach him. The guy snorted laughter at this, reporting back to everyone that White was too huge to move properly, which illicited peals of laughter from everyone else. White remained silent, shame clamping his jaws shut.

After quieting themselves, one of the original two Strangers came forward and asked, “But seriously, you one of this ‘Doctor Pavlov’s’ henchmen or what? I mean, his henchmen were chubby, but you’re,” he suppressed a giggle, “you seem to get, er, special treatment. You’re huge.”

White shook his head, “No... I’m not one of his henchmen. He kidnapped me.”

“And then he made you... like this?”

“Yeah...” White muttered. The Stranger raised an eyebrow.

“So that’s what his lab’s and that dining hall’s about. Oh man, this is too funny. Who the hell kidnaps people just to make them fat? What, does he have a fetish for this or something?”

Another of the two piped, “Yeah, like, he must get off to total whales or something. I seriously can’t get over how enormous this guy is. Wait, so did he, you know,” he didn’t finish, lending his words to implications. White’s scowl deepened, and he nodded wordlessly.

“I just want to go home. Just get me outta here, fella, please,” White whined, trying to appeal to the throng of gawkers.

The two before him looked at each other, not quite sure how to handle the situation, and shrugging, one said, “Yeah, I don’t know if we have anything that can carry you... Maybe a forklift--”

“A nuclear powered forklift,” the other quipped.

“Yeah, something like that. I mean, I guess we can’t really leave you here...”

After much waffling and calling back and forth between there and elsewhere, arrangements were finally made to transport the pitiful Mr. White to his home. When it was discovered they were taking him to a trailer, it was repeatedly mused and questioned whether or not he’d manage to fit in his own home, least of all the door, and acknowledging that it wasn’t a very kind solution to simply leave him on the “lawn” due to his sensitivity to the sun. In the end, Billy had to be called, who was quite distressed over White’s absence and needed constant explanations, but agreed to help receive the very despondent Mr. White in his present state.

While very glad to be rid of this horrid castle and its constituents, his howling hunger reminded him of what he’d become and furthered his despair that he’d never be the same again. Perhaps the setting would be changed, but he was still in Hell.  



End file.
